


In My Hands

by paintitb1ack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, Episode: s10e22 The Prisoner, Post-Episode: s10e22 The Prisoner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintitb1ack/pseuds/paintitb1ack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean left, how much time passed before Cas healed himself? Did Sam see him like that? Did Sam arrive to find Cas still lying there, broken and beaten and near tears?<br/>What happened in the time between episodes 22 and 23?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this in late May of 2015 and I dropped it about a month later. I figured I'll put up the parts I've already written and then add more chapters when I can. I still have to really look over/edit these first few but, for the moment, enjoy.

Sam didn’t know what to expect when he got back to the bunker.

His mind played through a dozen scenarios, pushing aside then bringing back the ones that involved Dean becoming violent. He knew there was a chance of that, a _very good_ chance of that, but he didn’t want to consider it, didn’t want to even _think_ about it.

Sam glanced down at his hands, the skin white around the knuckles as he curled them into fists. The door to their home was ajar, the only sound escaping through the crack the slight whistle of the wind. He blinked his eyes shut, then open.

_it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay_

_or is it_

What if when he entered, he found his brother dead? Or worse, a demon? What if Cas couldn’t contain him, what if this time Sam’s blood didn’t work? What if--

His breathing suddenly caught.

_Cas_.

Odds were the angel had made it back to the bunker before Sam did, and yet there had been no phone call to let the younger Winchester know that he had subdued Dean, that he had locked him back up, that he was okay, that Dean was okay, that both of them were okay, there was no call no call no call no call

Sam clutched at his chest, hyperventilating. His heart and lungs were working at increasing speeds, moving so fast he could do nothing to slow them down. A loud cough burst from his throat and suddenly he found himself doubled over, vomiting loudly onto the grass. Closing his eyes, he moaned, turning his head away from the liquid on the ground that was all too thin, all too clear.

His stomach had only found one thing to send back up: water. 

Dean had always been the one to keep Sam accountable, the one who made sure his little brother was eating. The older Winchester had been taken aback when he first realized that it wasn’t hours, but rather _days,_ that split up Sam’s meals. From that point forward, he made sure they congregated in the main room three times every day to eat. Even if his little brother only ate once, Dean was happy.

But ever since Dean began to succumb to the Mark, Sam felt himself slipping. He tried to do what his brother would want, he tried to keep on track, but he couldn’t. And after Charlie died… 

Sam shook his head, trying to drive the thoughts from his mind. How _dare_ he pity himself. Of those involved, he was, at this moment, the least important.

Cas and Dean.

_They_ were important.

Sam withdrew his gun from the back of his jeans. Then he opened the door and stepped inside.


	2. Chapter 2

“Dean?”

There was no response. Just silence. 

Pure, absolute, unsettling silence.

Knees bent, body pressed against the wall, Sam called out his brother’s name a second time, then a third. 

Nothing.

Sam swallowed harshly, the remnants of the vomit like sticky needles in the back of his throat. 

The large, metal door to the main staircase had been blown off its hinges. But whether it was Dean who had done it - the Mark was obviously powerful enough to accomplish such a feat - or someone else, there was no denying that whoever had come through that arch was extremely dangerous. 

The younger Winchester rose to his full height. His eyes flickered shut for a moment as he sucked in a large breath of air. 

_I can do this._

In one swift motion, Sam turned the corner, weapon raised, hair falling from behind his ears as he glanced left then right then left again, searching for the enemy.

But there was no one there. Sam blinked, dropping his gun arm slightly.

Suddenly his chest tightened.

_Wait._

There was a body. 

On the steps to the War Room, there was a body.

Taking the stairs two, three, four at a time, he reached the ground floor before he even realized what he was doing. 

The corpse was face-down but, even so, Sam should have realized that it wasn’t his brother, that it wasn’t Cas. It didn’t _look_ like either of them, wasn’t _dressed_ like either of them, but in that moment it didn’t matter. He wasn’t thinking clearly. 

All he saw was a dead man, and that was enough to make him afraid.

Dropping to his knees, his fingers scrabbled for purchase on the corpse’s jacket, finally catching it in a tight enough grip to turn it on its back. “Dean?” he whispered urgently, eyes locking on the stranger’s face not even a moment after the name escaped his lips. 

Sam pulled back, a half-mad chuckle bursting from his mouth as he pressed his hands against his head, uneven nails digging violently into his skin. 

_you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine_

Legs tucked up against his chest, eyes closed tight, Sam mouthed the simple mantra as he tried to dispel all other thoughts from his mind.

_you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine_

Five minutes passed, then ten.

_you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine_

His heart slowed and he opened his eyes, the soundless phrase becoming one with a voice.

“You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.”

Another five minutes, then finally:

“I’m fine.”

Sam rose shakily to his feet.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, then said once more, nodding, “I’m fine.”

After retrieving his weapon from the floor, Sam turned the body back over with his foot. He swallowed uncomfortably when he saw the knife wound. 

_I’m fine._

The younger Winchester raised his gun as he padded up the short flight of stairs and into the War Room. 


	3. Chapter 3

The room was a mess.

No, ‘mess’ was an understatement.

The room had been destroyed.

There were books everywhere, torn pages littered amongst pieces of glass on the hardwood floors. Sam could see a pile of Dean’s records and, on top of them, all of his flannel shirts. 

A smile played up at his lips as he imagined what his brother would do if he saw his belongings in such a state. 

One glance to his left and he didn’t have to imagine.

Two bodies were sprawled out on the floor: one he recognized as the Styne that had cut off his own arm; Sam ignored him. The other was a young boy.

Tucking his weapon into the back of his jeans, the younger Winchester knelt down next to the child and pressed two fingers against his throat.

_Nothing._

Then he noticed the bullet hole in his head.

Sam rocked back on his heels, breathing harshly. This had to have been Dean. There was no arguing that point anymore. Killing the elder Styne was something his brother had sworn he would do. But what about the boy? 

He touched a hand to the child’s face, gently sliding his glasses back over the bridge of his nose.

The Mark had forced him to do this. That’s what this was. The Mark. Sam clenched his eyes shut. This could not continue. He had to do something, something more, but what else was there? 

The pace at which Rowena was putting together the spell had grown tiresome. And she wasn’t even going to cast it unless Sam managed to kill Crowley.

_It’s_ ** _Fergus_** _,_ he could hear Rowena snarl. 

The younger Winchester shook his head. Crowley, Fergus, whatever.

Unfortunately, ever since Sam’s assassination attempt, Crowley was in the wind. Even if he managed to summon him, odds were the demon would smite him where he stood.

Maybe at some point Cas could—

Sam’s chest seized.

_Cas_. He’d forgotten about _Cas_.

A single hand reaching towards his weapon, he got to his feet, calling out the angel’s name.

Silence.

He said it a second time, then a third.

Nothing. 

Sam took in a breath, losing courage fast. But he tried again.

“Cas?”

A whimper drifted over a pile of books on the other side of the room.

Heart in his throat, Sam moved towards it.


End file.
